Squatchspeare in Love

Together we shall scale the tallest trees

to breed among the Redwoods in the rain.

We’ll scrabble up the steepest granite screes

and make our beds in leaves where we have lain.

When hunkering in snow-dens that we share,

with warmth like ours, we won’t need underwear!

I live to contemplate your tawny hair–

its mats arranged exquisitely with care

When I’m out hunting rabbits in the glen,

you stay behind to nest in groves of sage–your musk attracting mobs of other men

whose growls and wood-knocks aggravate my rage!

Your wry smile stained with huckleberry wine

Says, “Take a number, hot stuff, get in line…”

Song of Squatchaway

I’ve followed in your footsteps with great care:

Their prints are not exactly hard to spy,

especially when you leave tufts of hair

in clumps among the trees seven feet high.

A wiry, manly form of brown and black

and musk of eau de skunk and dead raccoon,

I find your silhouette simple to track

through underbrush beneath the silver moon.

If I were human, I would have the clout

to demonstrate I know just what I’m doing!

With photo proof, I would allay all doubt

That you are real–a guy who’s worth pursuing!

But soft! What snapping sound breaks nigh yon crag?

It’s tree-branch-speak for, “Tiny wants a shag!”